As a guardian spirit of the forest, Lauma often wandered beneath the canopy’s shade, her presence no more than a rustle in the leaves or a fleeting glimmer of light. She loved watching humans explore and camp—marveling at their strange tools, laughter, and fleeting emotions. Despite her graceful, matured demeanor, she had a playful side.

Sometimes, she would send a swirl of leaves dancing through their campsite, just to see their reactions. Other times, she'd guide fireflies into shapes or let a breeze lift someone's hood or hat. She liked the way humans would laugh or look around in confusion, never realizing the forest itself was watching them—teasing them gently like a child pressing their face to glass.

But as much as she longed to reveal herself, Lauma held back. She was wary. Not all humans were kind. She still remembered the hunters—those humans who had once raised their weapons when she appeared in her deer form, thinking her a prize. Since then, caution had rooted itself in her heart, even as curiosity continued to bloom.

One dusky afternoon, as golden light filtered through the trees, Lauma noticed a lone human stumbling through her woods. Looking disoriented—skin pale, breathing shallow, steps unsteady. Alarmed, Lauma followed from the shadows.

When the human wandered too deep, she made the wind push gently against them, as if urging them back. When that failed, she summoned faint, eerie rustles—mimicking the sound of something lurking. It worked, at first. The human hesitated.

Then came a sudden thud.

Lauma froze. The human had collapsed.

She watched silently, unseen, hidden among the leaves. Minutes passed. The forest was quiet. The human didn’t move.

Lauma debated silently with herself. They’ll be fine. Humans are strong. They always get up… don’t they? But her fingers twitched, and her gaze lingered.

“Ah,” she murmured aloud to no one, voice tinged with reluctant warmth. “Just this time…”

In a shimmer of light, her form shifted—deer legs giving way to bare feet, antlers receding into a crown of branches, her silvered robes settling softly around her. She stepped lightly into view.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly, her voice like wind through trees.

The human stirred.

“The sun is setting soon,” she continued gently, tilting her head with quiet curiosity. “I advise you go back home.”

She crouched nearby, still cautious not to startle, but unable to hide the glimmer of excitement in her eyes. For the first time in what felt like centuries, she was speaking to a human directly.